"all the... small things..."

...and there they were. A host of about 3000 men, and one tragically beautiful woman. And I mean Rickter scale tipping beauty. And she was on their side. Very much like the episode of "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air", when Carlton met his soul mate who was, like him, a mascot (but for the opposite team), our spirits locked eyes and we rivaled each other through live at first sight.

I hate secret societies. Even those based on acid trip highs of mine while dissecting humanity's ailments. Or ails. Or man's ails. Or men being an ail period.

Pass the ale.

Pass the drink.

Pass the blunt.

I lifted weights today. I felt less than a man doing, as being muscle bound almost ensures and heightens the potential to abuse a woman. Scrawny as I accept myself to be, my own featherweight structure can never make me strike a woman. Yes, I shoved Toya, shook up Briana and belittled Simone (M), but I still haven't recovered from those incidents to even think about
...




Fu(k it. No more relationship talk.


These next 5 albums, or projects, or folders, then monkhood. Awkward 2 finally got a resolution.

Then again, this could be a record in my crates.











"...knew that she was pretty..."

~Journee Smollette Rules The World~